


Winning the game (while drunk)

by little_black_cat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Flirting, Geniuses, I mean there's Jim, John Is So Done, M/M, Moriarty Is A Dick, The flirting is not over, game, sherlock is drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8838994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_black_cat/pseuds/little_black_cat
Summary: John comes home and finds the impossible (in the living room)





	

**Winning the game (while drunk)**

 

 

 

 

 John closed the door, rubbed a hand on his eyes and prayed that it would’ve been enough to delete what he had in front of him.

“You’re drunk,” declared, less surprised than he thought.

From the sofa came a disapproving hiss, interrupted by Sherlock’s amused voice: “Obviously not. Do you really think that people like us can get drunk?”

The doctor threw a look at the giggling detective: “Yeah, I do,” he finally answered. “And with just half of a whisky bottle, I dare to deduce,” he added, casting a glance at the tea table.

The hiss was heard a second time: “I don’t believe deductions are actually your field, Johnny,” mumbled Moriarty, sounding incredibly threatening even in his conditions.

John shrugged: “And neither is saving two geniuses’ minds from alcohol, so I’m going to ignore everything and run away to my bedroom.”

Sherlock, hearing the answer, tried to stand up, but he staggered and fell again miserably on his armchair. “Don’t go away, John,” he babbled, pouting ( _pouting_ , for God’s sake). “Jim and I are playing unresolved cases.”

“And he’s losing,” announced Moriarty triumphantly, gulping down another glass of whiskey like he was complimenting himself for the victory. Holmes glared at him (but he didn’t manage it very well because of his semi-closed eyes):

“Only for two cases.”

“You’re losing anyway.”

“Well, I’ll close the gap.” The man gestured towards doctor. “Come on, Watson. Help me to defeat him.”

“Since when am I ‘Watson’?” Seeing the detective strive to find an answer, John rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, I’m not playing against _him_.”

“Scared of explosives?” Moriarty mocked him. The man threw him a suspicious look:

“Am I wrong, or are you less pissed than it seems?”

Jim gesticulated with one hand: “No, I’m just more good at hiding my drunkenness than _someone else_ ,” he concluded, grimacing in Sherlock’s direction, who in response stuck out his tongue. John put his hands up:

“Alright, now I can say I’ve seen enough and my life is finally complete. I promise I won’t tell Mycroft about your little games - God, that sounded quite wrong - and I retire to my chambers without further hesitation. Try not to destroy all of London.”

“Sweet dreams,” hummed Sherlock, raising the glass towards him.

“Lock your door,” sniggered Moriarty. “You don’t want the big bad wolf to come visit you while you sleep. And I do hope you have soundproofed walls.”

The doctor frowned: “You won’t start screaming, I hope,” he objected, hesitating.

Jim smiled, showing all his teeth: “Oh, I don’t know. I’m pretty silent, in _certain_ situations, but I have no idea about him. For _now_.” He sneered, resulting more grotesque because of the alcohol he had drunk. John remained motionless in shock, observing him with his mouth open until he noticed that Sherlock had started mimicking him and Moriarty was splitting his sides laughing.

“Too much information, mister consulting criminal,” he spat, while the other two continued to giggle. Still incredulous of what just happened, he made for his room and tried to chase away the horrible images that had started crowding his mind.

 

In the living room, left alone with Moriarty, Sherlock crossed his legs. Jim stood up from the sofa and sat in front of him, on John’s armchair. They stared at each other with a defiant look.

“Nineteen-ninety-nine, Laurinston Garden: Kelly, twenty-seven years old, choked to death. Only clue on the scene: a red velvet scarf with the initials I.P.”

The detective raised an eyebrow: “One of yours?”

Moriarty leaned towards him: “You tell me.”

Braiding his fingers under his chin, Holmes started to think. “And if I win?” he added after a while, glancing at the criminal.

Jim poured himself some more whiskey: “Oh, honey,” he murmured, sipping the liquor. “I think you’ve already guessed what you’ll get.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any grammar errors, english is not my language. Kudos will be appreciated!


End file.
